Death of the Baby's Breath
by cold-crescent-moon
Summary: Each has its own time, and Jack was no exception. Trigger warning: Molestation, attempted rape and attempted first degree murder.


I don't own anything

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It was his greatest fear that made the boy wonder. What he and the others saw that night didn't seem to make any sense; how could anyone be afraid of a toilet? The burly blonde looked down at the Wu he held in his gloved hand. Omi's fear of squirrels, although a bit silly to some, had a rational reasoning behind it – bad experience. But a _toilet_? Did that mean that Spicer still had to use diapers?

A shudder was given at the thought. Maybe it was best he didn't think about that too much.

Since Clay had won back the Shadow of Fear today during their showdown, he was, obviously, the one to put it in the vault. But curiosity had been picking at him relentlessly. Even since the Xiaolin Dragons' first experience with this specific Wu, it left them all wondering; why was Jack Spicer afraid of a bowl with water in it? Potty training was never an easy feat for anyone, sure, but you got used to it eventually. It's something that becomes a part of your daily routine.

So what was Jack's bad experience that made him so afraid of the loo?

It must've been something bad.

_Real_ bad. If it made the redhead whimper and whine for his momma _that_ much, and without shame too.

He really shouldn't have done it, but the cowboy gripped the Wu tightly before repeating its name and holding it out. He could see the shadow leaking out from it, crawling around his figure before closing in and making his body reduce itself to small grains. His stomach gave a slight twist as he was broken down into tiny particles, swishing through the air at an unimaginable speed toward the Spicer Estate. He had no control, even with the need to hurl that was overwhelming him, there was no way he could, after all, he'd become a handful of dark sand that was traveling through the air and swirling down into Jack's ear.

He could feel himself re–materialize inside of Jack's mental state. Everything was dark and grimy, as expected. Making his way up toward the door that floated in the centre, Clay took a breath, hesitating when he reached it. Beads of sweat ran down underneath his shirt, and his toes were beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Sneaking into Spicer's mind to sniff around and figure him out felt… _wrong_.

This wasn't something that a Xiaolin Dragon would do, but… Jack was an enemy. To know your enemy as well as you can was the best thing for everyone, especially when the enemy was as persistent as Jack. So swallowing his doubt, Clay reached out and grasped the knob, turning it and stepping through the door. Grey smog rushed up to greet him, pulling him forth and closing the door. He tripped and stumbled from the sudden pull, but as he regained balance, he could see Jack in front of him.

Small, tiny Jack. Skin as pale as the moon, and hair messy and just as red.

"Mommy?"

His call was feeble, frail and pleading. Jack must've been three or four, still dressed in a light blue onesy and hands balled into little fists they were tucked under his chin.

"M, mommy…?"

The cry was fainter this time, and it seemed to click in Clay's mind that this was a memory.

He could feel his heart tighten as he watched a child–Jack wandering around aimlessly in what looked like a kitchen. His eyes were trying their best to hold back tears, trying not to panic as he looked on for his mother. Helplessly, the cowboy continued to watch the boy as he padded up the stairs, using his hands to grip the steps in front of him. As they got to the second landing, there was a light creeping out through a door and its frame, left almost purposefully ajar. As the naive child he was, Jack walked toward it, whispering a faint 'Mommy?' as he pushed the door open and walked inside.

It was the bathroom.

To any normal person, a bathroom is a fairly spaced room that has a toilet, a tub and a sink in it. But the Spicer family was making buckets of money, and by the looks of it, even way before Jack was born. _This_ bathroom was the size of a nice kitchen with a fancy tub that had lion feet, which could easily fit two people, along with a wide sink and a modern loo. So to a small child, this would look large.

So, _very_, large.

"Jack?"

Both of them turned around, not having noticed the tall man stepping inside. Clay didn't think Jack remembered what this guy looked like since his head was out of the shot, but he sounded like a family man. The ones that you see on day time television.

"Jack, what are you doing?" He said, walking toward the small child and swooping him up. The redhead gave a whimper.

"I–I was looking for mommy…."

"Again? You know she's not around during the night."

"But…"

"No buts Jack," the man said, sitting down on the (lidded) toilet and propping Jack up on his knee. "I told you, if you had anymore nightmares, come to me."

The pale boy fell silent, biting down on his lip. That expression of holding back tears had welled up again.

"Okay Uncle Jeremy."

Finally, the man's face came into view, and Clay could feel a shudder go through his body. Eerily enough, 'Uncle Jeremy' looked like the Dude–bot that Jack had constructed to help him get the Lunar Locket.

So maybe he _did_ remember what Uncle Jeremy looked like.

"Good boy, Jack. Now, let's chase those bad dreams away, shall we?" Jeremy asked, coming in close, almost nuzzling his nephew.

"N-no, Uncle, it's… no–"

"Shh, be a good boy and don't make a sound, m'kay?" He said, voice dropping as his hands began to explore. The boy had started shaking, but bit his lip again and nodded.

"Good boy Jack… very good boy."

Clay could feel the feeling in his feet go as the scene blacked out while another was swirling into view.

"Mom, mom _please_, I don't want Uncle Jeremy staying with us anymore."

This time, it was in the kitchen with a slightly older Jack, looking about ten or so. His skin was still fairly pale and his hair bright, but there was no black streaks under his eyes. Being the still–small boy he was, Jack only came up to his mother's elbow. Either he was really small as a kid, or she was just really tall.

"Jack, don't be ridiculous." She said, voice soft but holding that sharp, scolding tone. "Uncle Jeremy has been kind enough to be your godfather, and has even gone to the extent of taking care of you while your father and I were in the middle of the expansion. Running a number of businesses aren't easy, especially if they're all beginning to meld into a major corporation." She said as–a–matter–of–factly.

"But, mom, you don't understand, I _really_ don't like him!" He said, trying his best not to say too much. He wasn't dressed in all black this time, much like the last memory, he was dressed in a light blue sweater vest with a cream button up underneath, beige pants to compliment. Jack's mother gave a heavy sigh, holding the dishwashing for a minute.

"Jack, sweetie, I know we're not _always _there for you," She started. "But this is for your _future_. A lot of my business partners are telling me to make as much money as your father and I can now before education becomes a business scam rather than a standard." Her hands started working the dishes again, her attention wandering from her son to the sink. "They're usually right about these things, and I want to make sure that you go to a good school, like Princeton or Harvard. And if that's the case, we have to be prepared, financially. It's all for _you_. So just hold tight a little longer, okay?"

Jack looked down at his shoes, a pained look on his face. There was a pause before a sigh was heard and his mother turned her attention to the dishes all of the way.

"Okay." Came the defeated reply. The scene transitioned, and it was later that day. Night had risen, and Jack was still in the same clothes, perched on the couch with his knees drawn up close. His eyes were glazed over as they bore into the television; it was clear that he wasn't paying attention to any of the rubbish going on on the screen. It was when the door creaked open from the corridor the boy's eyes snapped into focus, revealing a smiling Jeremy.

"How's my favourite nephew doing tonight?" Came that smooth, family–man like voice. He approached the albino, the wood floor creaking under his leather shoes. Jack tried to disappear into the cushions, but only succeeded in squishing himself toward the far side of the leather sofa. The Uncle gave a chuckle, sitting himself down only a foot away from the redhead, who was trying his best to keep his distance and remain calm. It wasn't working very well.

"Where were you all day? Your mother told me that you went off to the library."

"I–I, uh," Jack stuttered, he was beginning to shake. "I went to the bookstore instead."

"You should have called home to tell someone; what if something had happened to you?"

Clay could see Jack's face twisted into different expressions. He was obviously trying to find the right words to use. "I, um," He began, wringing his fingers. "I didn't have enough change for the telephone. I–I'll be sure to keep some with me, for next time. Just in case."

The awkward pauses and stops in his sentences sounded too much like the way the Jack spoke during their showdowns. Is this where the pale boy picked up that habit? Blue eyes watched as Jeremy said something rather unsettling as he shifted his weight, leaning in closer to the small redhead.

"Y–You're in my b–bubble…"

A low chortle as the middle aged man reached over to grab on of Jack's hand, using his other hand to keep himself from tumbling over and on top of his nephew.

"Maybe you're just in _my_ 'bubble'." He said, his lips ghosting over the side of Jack's face. The boy shuddered, using his free hand to push against his caretaker.

"N–No. Uncle Jeremy, you have t–to stop–"

A sound between a gasp and an 'eep' interrupted the redhead's sentence as his relative bit down on his ear, audibly sucking and whirling his tongue around, moans audibly dripping from his mouth. Jack began to panic. Cries of 'stop' and 'no' leapt from his throat as he tried his best to thrash about, but Jack was never the athletic type, nor was he physically strong. It was when Jeremy moved on top of him the boy was able to swing his leg forward and up, landing his shin right in the middle of the old man's pants. Jeremy was paralyzed for a moment, and Jack used this as a chance to push him away, _running_ away. Staggering, and recovering quickly, Uncle chased after his nephew who had run down the corridor and into the kitchen.

"Jack..."

His voice was a low growl, and the redhead panicked as he looked around. The kitchen was a dead end. There was the door to the basement, but that led nowhere too.

"_Jack_,"

This time, Jeremy's voice was firmer, _angrier__. _He was staggering towad the door, grinning when he saw Jack pressed against the kitchen counter, paralyzed with fear.

It all happened in a flash. Jack screaming as his Uncle closed in on him, pinning him down. Clay didn't see where the knife had come from, it seemed too surreal, but when the redhead lashed out in defence, Jeremy only gave a grunt before grabbing the boy's thin neck.

"Don't play rough kiddo. You know I don't like that."

His nephew merely spat out a nasty comment, only to cause those fingers around his throat to tighten.

"I'm disappointed in you Jack... very, disappointed. I'll have to teach you manners again, won't I?" He tutted in a level voice. Cold and steady, the anger from before completely gone.

The voice of a psychopath.

Clay could feel his throat tighten and fingers curl as he watched Jack shriek. What looked like a blunt butter knife was digging into the redhead's left cheek. Jeremy was stationed comfortably on top of Jack, using his weight to keep the small boy down while his left hand held his throat, the right clenching the butter knife while dragging it down his face.

And that's when everything vanished. Clay was pushed back and out of the door by an unknown force, and the door had slammed shut just as his figure stumbled out. It was then he realised that he was sweating, and his shoes felt a little too tight.

* * *

Oh god, I wonder what part of hell I'm going to.


End file.
